Breathing Wisteria Read online

  A loud groan of frustration reminds us both of Simon’s presence.

  “Hey, here’s an idea. Just throwing this out there, but why don’t you ask her what she thinks about all of this?”

  The stairs creak under my feet as I climb the three flights to Wyatt’s apartment. Once again, I notice the yellowing paint is peeling away on the walls and hand railings. While the building isn’t decrepit by any stretch of the imagination, it is obviously old with an air of disrepair. All of which makes sense now that I know she has been refusing my money.

  She always was fucking stubborn, determined to do things for herself with no help from anyone.

  I finally reach her door and after noting that it’s only nine o’clock, definitely not too late for a visit, but late enough that I might not actually be able to get this night back on track, I knock.

  The low hum of the television that I had heard only moments before suddenly stops and I wait expectantly. When her footsteps never appear, I cock an eyebrow in disbelief.

  “Really, Wyatt? This is how you’re going to play it? Okay, then.” I slide down on my ass, taking a seat by her door. “I’ve got all night.”

  I don’t have to wait long before I hear her storming toward the door. She yanks it open and glares at me with an impressive scowl.

  “You know, you used to listen better.”

  “Yeah, well you used to be braver, I guess we both changed some, huh.”

  Standing, I stretch quickly and move past her into the apartment before she can stop me.

  But I do hear her whispered, “Asshole,” as I walk by.

  “We need to talk, Cherry.” I flop down on the sofa, making myself at home. As I swing my legs up and recline back, I flash back to the last time I was on this couch and my cock twitches at the memory. I’ll have to find a place for this when I finally get her moved in with me. Can’t go throwing out happy memories like that.

  “Jesus, make yourself at home, why don’t you?” she grouses, taking a seat on the armchair opposite me, her legs curled under her ass.

  I lick along my bottom lip as I recall the vivid memories I have of that ass reddening under the bite of my hand. Shit. I try to discreetly adjust myself and concentrate on something other than how good her pussy feels tightening around my cock when I’m buried deep inside her.

  “So, I met Giselle Cross.”

  Her words have the same effect as a bucket of cold water and I no longer have to worry about disguising my hardening cock.

  “Of course, you fucking did.” I’m pissed at myself for not realizing Wyatt was vulnerable when I didn’t see Giselle out front of the spa. “What did she say?”

  “Something about you talking to your manager about an offer she had made.” She shrugs. “She knew my name.”

  I scrub a hand through my hair, my earlier annoyance back in full force.

  “She knows about you. The marriage, I mean.”

  Her shoulders slump and she sags back in the seat.

  “I was worried that’s what it was about.” She glances across at me, her eyes concerned. “Does she know about Carys?”

  “No,” I assure her, and she nods, her expression contemplative.

  “What does this mean for you? Will it cause trouble for the album release?”

  “Doesn’t mean shit to me.” I sit up and lean forward, my elbows on my knees. “It does mean you’re about to be thrown to the wolves though. You gonna be okay with that?”

  “It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

  There is a note of regret in her voice that I loathe and the instinct to protect her kicks in.

  “Yeah, you do.” Her eyes brighten slightly, silently encouraging me to go on. “She says she won’t post the story if I give her backstage access on the tour.”

  “She’s bribing you?” Her voice vibrates with indignation.

  “Don’t sound so surprised, baby, those people will do anything to get a story.”

  “But it’s so disgusting! What kind of person does that?”

  “The shitty kind. But I’ll do it if you want me to. Just say the word.”

  Her eyes narrow at me. “You are not giving her what she wants.” Her face softens, and she continues. “You don’t need to save me, Flynn. I can do that all by myself.”

  “I know you can,” I agree because there’s not a doubt in my mind that’s true. “But that’s what we do. We save each other.”

  She snorts out a laugh and pulls the collar of her sweatshirt over her mouth, mumbling something.

  “I didn’t catch any of that, try again.”

  She looks at me, her gaze contrite. “We’ve been doing a pretty crappy job of it.”

  “Fuck that. You’ve been saving me since the day I met you. We might have gotten lost along the way, but we’re going to fix that.” My voice is determined, challenging her to disagree with me.

  She stands abruptly and begins pacing the small room.

  “Flynn, you need to listen to me and actually hear what I’m saying.” She moves to the sofa and sits down but stays far enough away to be out of reach. “You and I are not going to happen.”

  I unconsciously move toward her, the pull too much to resist.

  “You and I already happened. We are happening.” I reach out and run a finger along her collarbone, relishing the goose bumps that chase my touch. “We will always be happening.”

  She jerks back, pulling away from me and shakes her head.

  “We need to get a divorce.” Her voice is soft, resigned, and she stands, making a concerted effort to distance herself from me. “We should’ve done it a long time ago. It was so stupid to think we would never have to deal with it.” Once again, she moves closer to me and I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. But the push and pull is obvious to me.

  “I can’t afford a lawyer, but I trust you. If you get the papers drawn up, I’ll sign them. I don’t want anything, so it should be quick and painless.”

  When she’s finished her bullshit rambling, I stand, slowly unfurling myself from the sofa and stalk toward her.

  She must sense my aggravation because she begins to back away, a look of defiance on her face. When her back hits the wall, I lift my arms and cage her in. I lower my face, gliding my nose along hers, only stopping when my mouth is a breath away from her own.

  “You think ending us would be painless?” I shake my head, bemused.

  “We. Are. Not. Getting. Divorced.” My lips ghost across hers and I have to stifle a smirk when a shiver runs through her. “Say it with me, Cherry.”

  It’s possible I have taken it too far because as the words leave my mouth, her eyes, which were glazed over only seconds ago, clear now and she pushes me away.

  “Yes, we are.” She moves across the room and pulls the door open aggressively. “Now, you need to leave.”

  “We need to talk about what’s going to happen. You’re not prepared to deal with the press.”

  She shrugs her shoulder petulantly and levels me with a cold glare.

  “Lots of crazy people shoving cameras in my face and screaming questions at me. Nothing you say is going to prepare me for that. Now, go.”

  There’s no point in me standing here arguing with her, not when she’s like this, so I walk toward the door, doing my best to keep my face indifferent.

  I walk past her and just as I hear the door start to close behind me, I stop.

  “Wyatt?”

  “Ugh, what?”

  “We’re really not, though.”

  Wyatt

  “Oh my God, that was insane.” Layla’s sweet voice is filled with disbelief as she slides onto a barstool at my kitchen counter. “There are about twenty photographers out there! Now I understand why you didn’t want to go out.”

  “Yeah, it only took them a day or two to find my home address after the story broke. They’ve been parked out there ever since.” I slide a mug of steaming peppermint tea in front of her, which she accepts gratefully.

&nbs
p; I’ve been doing my best to keep my stress levels, as well as my temper, under control these last few weeks, but it’s been difficult. Having my photo splashed all over the internet has been awful and, while I’m grateful they haven’t discovered the truth about the end of our relationship, I’m not thrilled with the narrative they’re creating. If social media is to be believed, we were young, dumb kids playing at being grown-ups, until Flynn came to his senses and left to pursue his dream of fame in LA.

  Depending on who you talk to, either Flynn’s the asshole who broke his first loves heart or I’m a first-class bitch who tried to stop him from achieving his dreams.

  Cue eye roll.

  “This is actually a quiet day. Normally there’s about fifty of them, but most took off a few hours ago.” I quirk an eyebrow and grin. “I guess a real celebrity is getting into some kind of trouble.”

  “How are you coping with all of this? What does Flynn say?” She blows on the tea and takes a cautious sip.

  “It’s driving me crazy.” I groan. “I haven’t left the apartment in days because I thought if they weren’t getting anything from me, they would leave, but nope. He just says to ignore them and say nothing. It’s getting harder to do, though.”

  “That sounds like a nightmare,” she agrees before lowering her voice to a whisper. “I still can’t believe you’re married. Married!”

  “I know, I suck. I swear I am well and truly aware of my level of friendship suckiness.”

  “No, I mean I get it.” She reaches across the breakfast bar and gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “I definitely understand where you’re coming from, wanting to put that behind you. I guess I understand better now why you wanted me to be absolutely sure before I gave up on Ethan. I will never be able to thank you enough for that. If I hadn’t fought for him.” She shakes her head, her eyes tearing up. “It would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “Hey, but you did listen. At least someone learned from my mistakes.” I force a laugh and hope I’m pulling off this whole nonchalant thing.

  “You know, Cassidy told me once that you really helped her get her head straight about Mason too. Perhaps it’s time you take your own advice since it’s always the grade-A, top-notch stuff.”

  This time my laugh is far from forced, slipping out easily.

  “I’ll remind you of that next time you ignore my advice!”

  “That has never happened, don’t even try it.” Layla chuckles before sobering. “You don’t think you and Flynn could try again?”

  “I don’t want to try again.” I force down the bile from my lie.

  “Okay, but does he know that? CJ said he’s refusing a divorce.”

  “Yeah, he’s being an ass about that, but he’s been amazing through everything else, so I don’t want to push my luck. I’ll probably end up filing myself.”

  “Amazing, how?” Layla’s eyes light up mischievously with her question, but I choose to ignore it.

  “Just talking me through it, I guess. He calls every day to keep me updated with how his team is trying to contain the story, that sort of thing. Plus, he gave me some security so I don’t have to deal with the paps by myself. I think the best thing, for us anyway.” I straighten up from the counter, my hands wrapped around my coffee mug. “Is that he can’t come here. I think a bit of distance will help him get over this idea that we’re going to get back together. He’s back in the city and I’m sure if it wasn’t for those idiots outside, he would be here trying to wear me down.”

  “Well, I mean, that’s kind of sweet though, yeah? He must really love you.” She sighs sadly. “I wish you felt the same, you deserve a happily ever after.”

  I force a bright smile and ignore the painful knot in my gut.

  “I have my happily ever after, Lay. It just doesn’t involve a man. Anyway.” I shake off the gloom. “I’m so sick of talking about me, what about you? How are the wedding plans coming?”

  A beautiful smile briefly dances across Layla’s lips before she sobers and looks down at her hands tightening around the mug, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “Good, they’re going good. We have decided to postpone the wedding a little bit though.”

  Okay, I did not see that coming.

  I lean forward and take her hands in mine. I know I must look concerned because she immediately backtracks.

  “Oh no, it’s not anything bad, it’s good news actually. Really good news.” She pauses, and her warm brown eyes meet mine and I know. I just fucking know what she’s about to say.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Right.” The word escapes on an exhale.

  “I wanted to tell you first, by ourselves.” She rushes on, her concern written all over her face. “Are you okay?”

  Am I okay? There’s no simple answer to that. I’m terrified I will never be okay.

  Instead, I slip on my mask and I tell her what she needs to hear.

  “Of course, I am. Lay! God, I’m so excited for you both.”

  “Really?” She physically slumps down in relief. “Because it’s okay if you’re not, you know. I would completely understand.”

  “Sweetie, what happened to me was a long time ago, I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure?” She eyes me tentatively.

  My head is screaming at me, my body desperate to collapse into itself, and in this moment, I hate myself a little. Because the sweetest girl in the world is standing in front of me and she would be devastated if she knew what her news was doing to me. So, I hold it together and move around the breakfast bar and wrap her up in a giant hug.

  “I’m sure,” I whisper.

  An hour later, I close the door behind Layla and turn my back to it, slowly sliding down until my ass hits the ground.

  The last hour proved to be endless as I listened to excited chatter and fearful musings, all the while fighting for control of my emotions. Layla tried so hard to hold back, her concern for me evident but there was no disguising her joy.

  My head sinks to my knees and my chest tightens painfully. I don’t understand why this hurts so much more than when Skye and Cassidy told me they were pregnant, but this pain feels raw and intense in a way it didn’t then. Like my heart is a gaping open wound and I’m prodding it with a sharpened fingernail in an effort to see how much agony I can tolerate.

  My breathing becomes labored as memories assault me. The could have beens. The should have beens. Most painful of all are the never will bes.

  Grasping my chest, I begin to panic as my tears fall, causing my breaths to become even more ragged. The act of dragging air into my lungs seems too damn hard and my sobs grow harder, harsher, my throat closing in.

  My phone goes off in my pocket and my first instinct is to ignore it, but fear and self-preservation has me answering it. I put the cell to my ear, but unable to speak, whoever is calling just gets an earful of me hyperventilating.

  “Wyatt?”

  Shit. Of course, it would be him.

  “Wyatt, what’s going on, are you okay?”

  I try to answer him, tell him everything is fine, but I can’t force the words out. Instead, my cries get louder, my breathing more forced.

  “Relax, baby, I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”

  Common sense is shrieking at me to tell him to stop, to stay away, but when he disconnects the call, all I feel is relief.

  My breathing has leveled out, breaths coming easier by the time he hammers on my door. But the tears are still falling and no matter how many times I scrub my hands over my face to wipe them away, they keep on coming.

  “Wyatt?” The banging continues. “Wyatt!”

  Summoning every ounce of energy I have, I pull myself up and open the door.

  “Jesus.” Flynn takes one look at me and pulls me to him, wrapping his strong arms around me and holding tight.

  All I can do is burrow my head into his chest and cry. I shed all the tears I should have cried ten years ago a
nd then, all the tears I should have cried three years later when my life, once again, crashed down around me.

  We stand there, for I don’t know how long, me locked into his embrace, his mouth at my ear, reassuring me that I am going to be okay.

  But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I don’t get to be okay.

  That I can never be okay again.

  Finally, I push away, putting some much-needed space between us.

  “I’m sorry,” I rasp out. “I’m fine, you didn’t need to come over. You caught me at a bad moment.”

  He follows me deeper into the apartment and then stands still, watching me intensely as I move to the bathroom and wash my face with cold water.

  I take a fortifying breath and then walk back toward him, attempting to project a hell of a lot more confidence than I’m feeling right now.

  “You have many bad moments like that?” he questions with a raised brow, and I don’t know why, but I feel judged.

  “You’ve never had a bad day? Christ, Flynn, I just needed to cry it out. Nobody asked you to come rushing over like some kind of fucking white knight.” I prowl around the room, unable to keep still, and I feel his eyes on me with every step I take.

  “Fair enough. Do you want to talk about whatever it is that you needed to cry out?” His voice is gentle, and it strikes me that this is the Flynn who was by my side in the days, weeks, and months after we lost our baby girl.

  It makes me want to lash out. It’s not fair and it’s not okay, but I want to hurt him. Because he still gets to have that one day.

  He’ll meet the woman he’s destined for and they’ll create the life that was supposed to be mine. A life with love and babies, art and music.

  He’ll be happy and while any other day I would tell you that’s what I want for him, right now I want him to feel a tiny fraction of the misery I have to live with.

  “Let’s see, do I want to talk about the fact that one of my best friends is having a baby? Hmmm.” I tap a finger on my chin in an exaggerated gesture. “Ya know what? No, I don’t, but thanks for asking.”